Page 22 of The Reluctant Viking

Ruby’s amazement at their mention of both Christian and Norse gods must have shown on her face.

“We practice both religions here,” Olaf explained. “Baptism to the Christian faith is the price most Vikings pay for settling in foreign lands. Most often ’tis a political expedient, nothing more.”

“Nay, husband, some of us are true converts,” Gyda argued.

Informal conversation flowed throughout the dinner, plain, delicious fare including an unleavened flat bread called bannock which Ruby learned was baked daily by the Vikings. Even the children talked freely as the family caught up on all the news that had happened while Olaf was gone.

Gyda told of unexpected deaths, new babies born, marriages made and growth in the city. “’Tis claimed there are now more than thirty thousand adults living in Jorvik. Could that be true?” Gyda asked her husband.

“Mayhap an exaggeration, but ’tis a fact the city grows like wild weeds. At least, there is still some order to the growth. I noticed as we walked from the palace that the gate pattern is being followed in an orderly fashion.”

“Yea. We now have Coppersgate, Petergate, Andrewgate, Skeldergate, Bishopgate—”

Ruby interrupted, “What does gate mean? In my land, a gate is a door in a fence.”

“Gate is a Norse word for street,” Olaf explained, “’Tis how we name our roadways.”

The children gave Olaf all their important news. Tyra showed off her missing teeth and told of five kittens born just last week to an aging cat which had apparently been around before Olaf left on his voyage. Astrid asked shyly about the handsome Selik, which seemed to disconcert Olaf. The other girls told of talents learned, minor injuries, gossip and trifles they wanted to purchase.

Thork’s sons remained silent, except to whisper among themselves. They seemed a part of, but separate from, this warm family. Lonely, Ruby thought. They were neglected, lonely children.

How could Thork be gone for two years and not spend his first night with his sons? Why did they live with Olaf’s family? If Thork could not care for them himself, why not the grandfather Dar that Thork had mentioned? Something was wrong here. Ruby shook her head in confusion, determined to get to the bottom of the mystery. She yearned to help the boys but remembered Thork’s warning. Later! she vowed. Later she would go to them, Ruby promised herself. She couldn’t wait until Thork’s return, though. She had a few choice words to deliver to him.

“Thork!” Olaf exclaimed suddenly, and everyone turned with a start to the doorway where Ruby’s wayward Viking stood with wide shoulders propped against the doorjamb and arms folded across his chest, listening with amusement to the domestic conversation. “You said you would be staying at the palace tonight,” Olaf accused.

In truth, Thork couldn’t believe that he had returned to Olaf’s house, against his better judgment. For years, he had followed a wise policy of avoiding his sons in public or in front of strangers, like Ruby. He could not let his enemies know these were the fruit of his loins. Holy Freya! His brother Eric would kill the boys in a trice to protect his accession. Or if he thought he could hurt Thork in the process.

It was Ruby’s fault. She had woven her magnetic siren’s web about him, and for some inexplicable reason he had felt compelled to return to Olaf’s house. He made eye contact with the mysterious wench and felt an intense rush of warmth surge through him. He inhaled sharply.

Why did the man-woman affect him so? It could not be her questionable beauty. She was not uncomely, but, in truth, he knew many women more pleasing to behold, though not half so enticing. Mayhap it was the manner in which she sometimes gazed at him with her heart in her eyes, thinking he was her husband.

More likely I have been too long without a woman and must needs get my mind out of my braies, Thork berated himself. Or hers!

Involvement with this woman spelled peril, pure and simple—to her, to him, to his sons, to Olaf’s family. And yet, knowing this, he had defied the warning bells in his head and come back anyway.

“Thork, what do you here?” Olaf asked. “You said I would not see you until the morn.”

Thork shot a cryptic, warning glance at Olaf. He deliberately avoided looking at his sons, even as he realized sadly that the boys could not hide their joy at his unexpected return.

Gyda stood to get another plate, and Thork took her seat opposite Ruby. Everyone at the table watched him with open mouths, clearly surprised by his out-of-character behavior. Odin’s ears! He should jump up right now and return to the castle where he could relieve all this pressure boiling inside him in Esle’s arms.

Instead, Thork studied Ruby intensely and said in a more husky voice than he intended, “I changed my mind.” Ruby’s open delight at his presence disarmed him, and his fingertips drummed a tension-filled melody on the tabletop.

“Humph!” Olaf muttered under his breath, recognizing the carnal flush on Ruby’s cheeks and the smoky sensuality on his friend’s loosely parted lips. “’Tis not your mind, but another part of your body, lower down, that has taken over, I wager.” Olaf threw back his head and hooted with laughter at Thork’s discomfort over his all-too-correct insight.

Thork flashed him a forbidding glare, and Olaf finally managed to get his mirth under control as Gyda placed goblets of ale in front of them both and a plate heaping with food at Thork’s place. Thork ate ravenously as conversation resumed once again around the table.

When the others looked away, Ruby whispered, loud enough for only him to hear, “I thought you would be back at the palace screwing the Viking bimbo from the harbor.”

“Screwing? Bimbo?” At first, Thork didn’t understand her words. When comprehension dawned, an easy smile tipped the edges of his lips. “You mean Esle?” he asked innocently. His smile widened at the hot color that flooded the face of the sharp-tongued wench who was shifting uncomfortably now.

“Not that I care who you sleep with!” she added defiantly, and Thork felt a deep pull inside at the sure knowledge that she lied.

“Thor’s balls! You have a blunt manner of speaking.”

“No more blunt than those coarse Viking swear words of yours.”

Thork found himself relishing this strange word sparring with Ruby. He frowned in concentration. In truth, he could not remember the last time he had cared what words came from a woman’s mouth, only what she did with it. How odd!